Fallen Snow
by NoryBoy
Summary: After centuries in a healing state a Snow Elf warrior awakens to find the world he knew gone. As a man out of time he must learn to adjust to his new situation embarking on an epic quest to find himself in this new world - but finding that he may be the key to saving it. A tale of loss, legends and large-scale adventure.
1. Awakened

The air seemed close and the room felt cold as Lokran Prodinix slowly regained consciousness. It was some feat for a Snow Elf to feel the cold and Lokran found he was surprised as his vision swam and he tried ever so hard to find his bearings. With an unsteady hand Lokran braced himself against the wall and tried to stand, but his legs failed him and he tasted raw earth on his lips. He tried to curse but found his voice cracked. It felt like someone had filled his throat with the deserts of Elswyr and he coughed, trying desperately to bring some moisture back to his mouth.

"Hello" he called out, but his voice was still weak and raspy and it sounded more like an agitated mud-crab than a Snow Elf warrior. He tried once more, "Hello" this time reaching a decibel that even a very small cow could hear, but there was still no reply. With great effort Lokran pushed himself to his knees and took in the sights around him. It did not take long as he found himself in a cell, just about large enough for the pallet on which he had been lying and the small area of floor that his body now occupied. The brick, wood and metal around him were unfamiliar, definitely not Falmer work, nor that of the metal loving Dwemer – in fact it seemed primitive almost the kind of thing… he froze mid thought, his surrounding suddenly solidifying into a coherent situation. His natural reflexes and warrior training kicked in and he began to think tactically. When he had been placed into the healing sleep, he had just been removed from the battlefield – the Nords had been beating his people back in a bloody swathe, but they had begun to hold them at the Throat of the World and he had felt sure that, once rested, he would be able to re-join the fight and take whatever fate awaited. Lokran understood the Nords actions, but while he understood he was duty-bound to retake the field, whatever the Snow Prince wanted it was his job to obey. What had happened since though, why was he not in the healing halls of the Chapel, why did he look upon the walls of a human construct and where in the name of Oblivion was he?

A curious mix of anger, anxiety and adrenaline coursing through him gave him the strength he needed to stand. With deliberate movements he regained his feet and tottered unsteadily toward the single door. He tested it gingerly, unsure of who – or what – was on the other side. It was bolted, but Lokran could feel the give in the wood and hinges – this door was old, not suited to holding a prisoner like this. He tested the door again, putting more pressure on the wood with his shoulder – he could feel the give in the wood becoming more and more pronounced and pressed on with a little more vigour. The wood groaned and the hinges creaked as the door splintered and fell from its frame. Lokran coughed as a cloud of dust rose up from the room beyond. Wafting the offending cloud away he looked into the room. It was dark, only a single shaft of sunlight breaking through a missing board in the ceiling. The room was filled with broken furniture, toppled chests and the remains of what appeared to be a bookcase, complete with charred manuscripts rendered illegible by heat and smoke. Lokran's red eyes scanned the room for movement or threat, but found none. He relaxed a little, but his mind kept throwing up more and more questions. What on earth was going on? Where was he? What was this place? Lokran bent down to inspect some of the debris that littered the floor, rusted goblets and broken dishes were scattered around the table, an overturned basket with its weave bitten through lay in one corner, a broken broom casually discarded atop it. Then he spied it, a small scrap of paper lying among the broken crockery and splinters. He reached for it and creased his brow in an effort to see in the low light.

The note was simple, written in a scrawled hand and in the, so called, "common tongue". It read,

"Stored the stiff in the back, going to see if I can hock the armour to a fence I know – watch out for Wallace and his crew, they got…"

The note had a section torn off of it, just there, but Lokran noticed it continued further on.

"…Mine. Got a score lined up in Riverwood, some claw, be back in three days, so stay out of trouble.

Alvin"

It took a moment for Lokran to get his head around the note, but he assumed that the "stiff" the note referred to was himself and that this Alvin was a profiteer of some kind and had assumed Lokran dead and therefore no longer needing his armour. He had never heard of the Riverwood however and assumed that it must be a new settlement nearby. Lokran rubbed his head as the reality of the situation began to dawn on him. He had been taken from the healing chapel while under the effects of the healing sleep and placed into what he now surmised to be an abandoned human dwelling. He had been stripped of his armour and placed in… Lokran took a look at himself for the first time since awakening, His white skin seemed to glow faintly in the weak sunlight and was contrasted rather startlingly by the filthy rags in which he found himself. He raised a hand to his brow and felt at his hair – it was matted and filthy, but still thick and healthy as it should be. He shook his head, how long had he been out of action? He was beginning to think that it was not the few months that the Chapel Healers had expected – indeed he was beginning to expect that it had been a great deal longer.

Slowly he rose from his crouched position and moved a little, testing his mobility. He was a little stiff, but if he had been immobile for as long he thought he had he supposed a little stiffness was getting off lightly. He took a step toward what appeared to be the door to the cabin – only to find it opening and a bewildered looking bandit stepping across the threshold. The man was a brute, big and built with shoulder length blonde hair and a nasty looking scar from bottom of his right eye to the nape of his neck. He was wearing simple fur armour with a small satchel on his shoulder and thin linen sash across his chest. There was a moment of stillness as the two of the locked eyes – each silently weighing the other, the bandit appearing slightly more distressed than Lokran, he guessed that was just because the body he had assumed was dead was now wandering the cabin trying to run through basic calisthenics. The moment broke and the two reacted.

The Bandit, true to form, pulled free a wicked looking broadsword from its sheath at his side and charged at the Snow Elf. Lokran threw himself backward to avoid the first swipe of the blade landing heavily on his backside; he quickly spread his legs as the follow up swing carved a divot in the floorboards before throwing himself backward. If he had been in full physical shape Lokran would have rolled backward and sprung to his feet with some crude weapon taken from the debris. As it was he skidded backward on his torn and dirty pants, snagging them on some debris and taking a light cut to the bicep as he turned to avoid being sliced in two. With the Bandit of balance, Lokran swung a huge white fist into his face, sending the man tumbling into the burned bookcase and sprawling on the ground. Lokran took the reprieve to regain his feet and snatched up the broken leg of a chair as a crude cudgel. The Bandit was spry and recovered quickly from his blow – straightening and smirking at Lokran and his chair leg. With a snarl the broadsword snaked out once more and was neatly taken aside by the chair leg – twice more in quick succession and after the third, Lokran struck out lashing with the blunt chunk of seating and cracking the bandit across the jaw. He quickly reversed his hold on the club and brought it hard against the ribs of the bandit before using his off hand to pound the other side of the Bandit's face. Whatever else this man was in life – a natural born fighter he was not and Lokran's skill quickly overcame the Bandit's ferocity. With the man neutralised Lokran took a moment to breathe. He was not as spry as he had hoped to be – his joints stiff and aching. He patted at the cut on his bicep, the blood was flowing freely and he needed to patch it up. Bending down over his unconscious opponent he tore off a strip of the linen he wore as a sash and made himself a bandage, tying it securely across his cut. That done he turned his attention to the satchel – inside he found a set of clothes, a few lock picks and a purse with around fifty coins inside. Lokran took one of the coins and held it up in the faint light. The flat piece of gold was embossed with the profile of a man with thin words around him. Though the piece made little sense he got the gist of it and the word "Empire" was familiar enough for him to recognise. The Humans had an empire. He knew that the lands to the south had always been somewhat of a haven for them, but he had assumed that the Heartland Elves would have been its architects. It was truly startling.

Lokran sat back against the wall – his head in his hands. When he had been wounded; the fight against Ysgramor and the Companions had been raging – the Elders and those above had proclaimed the humans of Atmora a lesser race and deserving of the wrath of the Falmer, but not all had believed that – Lokran was one such Elf. After the Night of Tears he had been conflicted – there had been many an animated conversation with Illyra, his wife, about his role in the genocide, but he had come to accept it as his duty if not his will – and when the retaliation had come and the armies had begun to clash he gladly accepted this as a natural outcome – a sign from Auri-El that he was displeased, but now this. He glanced once more at the coin, the writing on the side and two symbols in particular. 4E. He knew of the era's – a way of keeping time that was only beginning to be whispered about in the forests of Valenwood. For it to be the fourth era, meant that he had been sleeping for centuries. Lokran slammed his fist into the unconscious Bandit, lashing out as his grief and disbelief washed over him. Everyone he had ever known or cared about was dead – everything he knew was now a flicker in the distant past and he was alone.

Lokran leaned back letting the newly formed tears in his eyes pool on his cheeks. He needed answers, definitive answers, not just the idle speculation he was basing on an abandoned cabin and coinage. Balling his fists, he snatched up the note he had dropped when the Bandit had entered and re-read it. Whomever had taken his armour was heading to this Riverwood and if Riverwood was indeed a settlement as he suspected then that meant there would be people he could ask – books he could consult… he paused in his thought as he felt a tremor pass through his body – originating in his stomach… food he could eat. With new resolve Lokran snatched up the clothes from the bag and changed out of his filthy rags. The fit was a little loose, clearly whomever they had belonged to had been a size or two larger than the emaciated Snow Elf – still they were clean(er). Lokran grabbed the satchel and stuffed coins and the lock picks back into it and then took the sword from the Bandit. If he was going into uncharted territory he would do so armed. He stepped to the door and took a deep breath. Then with a quick prayer to Auri-El and a flash of his wife's face, Lokran Prodinix stepped out into the fresh mountain air of Skyrim.


	2. Loss and Direction

The light was bright as Lokran stepped out of the door, but his eyes quickly adjusted from the gloom of the cabin's interior. Seeing no one around he quickly made his way down the thin dirt trail that lead away from the cabin – his eyes constantly sweeping the hills either side of him for danger or any sign that the Bandit's friends were returning. As he cleared a ridge in the path Lokran got his first view of the surrounding landscape and he barely recognised it. The basic landscape had not changed, snowy mountains and lightly forested plains, that pleasant chill in the air that all of his kind appreciated and sight of Giants herding their mammoths around on the plains far below were all familiar sights – however it was the detail that made Lokran realise just how much had changed. There were buildings, ruins and in the distance a great city – rising up off of the plains topped with a palace of some kind. Despite his shock, Lokran had to admit it was breath-taking. It was then that he noticed the village, tucked down at the bottom of the trail he was following – it was a small settlement, just a collection of buildings on the edge of a river, but Lokran knew it was his destination. With a last look at the view he set off back down the trail.

It was dark by the time Lokran reached the bottom of the trail and slipped into the village. There were lights in the buildings and the sound of laughter and merry-making coming from what seemed like a meeting house. Lokran moved to the signpost outside and looked at it. It read;

"The Sleeping Giant Inn"

From the sounds Lokran guessed there would be around ten people inside, surely, he thought, one of them would know something about this "Alvin" he pursued. With a breath Lokran turned the handle and pushed open the door. He immediately felt the uneasy warmth of a fire burning brightly in the long stove that almost spanned the entire length of the building. The heat was unnerving; given his race's natural aversion to fire, but he persevered knowing that not all races shared his tolerance of the cold. The conversation, raucous laughter and hearty song seemed to die down in stages as one by one the patrons of the establishment realised the stranger that had entered their midst. One look at the startled and, frankly, fearful looks on the patrons of the Inn told Lokran that he was a rare sight – though not one of the onlookers seemed to grasp exactly what or who he was they certainly saw him as strange. Only the innkeeper had the wherewithal to react – she stepped out from behind the bar, muttering something to the surly looking man wiping down flagons, before heading over to Lokran with a thin smile on her face. By the way she moved, Lokran could tell that this woman had the bearing of a fighter, perhaps she had been, he thought just as she reached him.

"Well met stranger," she said the thin smile still holding on her hard features, "welcome the Sleeping Giant, can I offer you a drink?" Lokran smiled – the idea of a drink and a meal was appealing, there had been scarce enough to eat on the trail and he was beginning to feel the pangs of starvation creep into his thoughts. Coughing lightly into his hand to clear his dry throat Lokran replied.

"Thank you, perhaps a little food as well?" his mastery of the "common tongue" was not as developed as he would have liked, his practice had been interrupted by a certain assault, but still it was serviceable. Then again, as he listened to some of the grunting whispers that were passing for conversation around him, he thought perhaps his speech would seem almost eloquent. The hard faced innkeeper regarded him for a moment before nodding and leading Lokran to a small table situated in the corner of the room, Lokran was glad of this, despite his hunger and weariness he had no wish to sit in the middle of the room near the fire – it was already too close for his liking.

"Haven't seen the likes of you around these parts before, what brings you to Riverwood?" The Innkeeper inquired. It was phrased as a polite question, but Lokran could detect the innate mistrust in the woman's voice. Lokran hesitated, wondering whether he should concoct a story to explain his snow white appearance and red eyes, or just tell the truth and hope his candour was reciprocated with honest answers. The Innkeeper was still watching him as he sat and though she appeared a hard woman, Lokran felt that she could have answers.

"That is disappointing," Lokran said, "I was hoping you could tell me all you know of the Snow Elves." This earned Lokran a pair of raised eyebrows from the woman as she placed a flagon of amber liquid in front of him.

"Snow Elves? Are you joking?" The questions seemed genuine and Lokran frowned, he was beginning to fear the worst, but had to know for sure.

"No, you see I am a Snow Elf and I need some information." This set off a ripple of furious whispering from the others assembled in the tavern. The Innkeeper cast her eyes around at them and slowly they died away, but Lokran was now prepared for bad news.

"Snow Elf, eh? I think you should come with me." The Innkeeper lead Lokran to a back room, the light from small sconces on the walls made the room pleasant and the assorted food stuffs and alchemical ingredients told him that this was the kitchen. "My name is Delphine, what is yours?"

"Lokran. Lokran Prodinix. Am I to take it by your secrecy that you believe me?" He replied.

"I do Lokran, trust me I've seen enough elves and read enough books to know a Snow Elf when I see one, but I'm afraid I must be the bearer of bad news – the Snow Elves as you think you know them; are gone. But I'm getting ahead of myself - I think you should tell me your story and then I'll tell you what I know." So for the next few hours Lokran sat in the kitchen of the Sleeping Giant Inn telling his tale of war and conflict, of his injury and the healing sleep and then of waking in the cabin in the mountains. Delphine listened intently – asking questions for clarification where needed – before launching into her own tale, the tale of the Falmer and what they were today. Lokran went through a wide range of emotions during the tale; deep sadness to incandescent rage was the most frequent and by the time she was done he was utterly drained both physically and emotionally. He sat quietly in that kitchen – staring at the floor trying to understand exactly what had been explained to him. The Dwemer – that was the big take away – the Dwemer had destroyed his people – granted the Nords had defeated them, but it had been the Dwemer who had turned them from the proud race that he remembered and to foul, twisted, blinded creatures of the earth. When he had asked about the Dwemer, Delphine had told him that they too were gone, not changed or killed off, just gone. This only served to fuel Lokran's anger – they had gotten off lightly – if he could find just one he would make them suffer. What pained him the most was that he had no idea what had happened – there were no details, just tales and half remembered stories that had been passed down through the eras. He shuddered to think of his wife being forced into the dark; blinded and left in the dank tunnels beneath the Dwemer cities, being forced into slavery – he just had to hope she had been killed in the fighting and not forced to endure the suffering of his people as he was now being forced to.

It took several weeks for Lokran to recover from the shock of that night. He spent the first few days inconsolable, only leaving his room to relieve himself or eat a meagre supper – he quickly burned through the fifty septims he had liberated from the Bandit, but Delphine let him alone to grieve. After the first week Lokran was done feeling sorry for himself and began the process of moving on – he took strength from Auri-El whom he still worshipped despite the hardships that his god seemed to be forcing upon him. Delphine set him to work doing her more mundane chores – allowing him to earn his continued board at the Inn – he was grateful and began to socialise with the rest of the village. He did odd jobs - helping Gerdur out at the mill by chopping wood and he even took steps to regain some of his smithing ability by working with Alvor at the forge. It was during this time that he realised that he was not the elf he had once been. His skills had deteriorated to the point of non-existence while he had been sleeping – his strength and speed, he knew would come back with time and exercise, but his Magicka and other abilities seemed to be sluggish in reappearing. After a month of living in the community Lokran was feeling more like himself – he was still devastated emotionally, but he was moving on – he had to reclaim what he could and try to build some kind of legend for himself, something that would stand out from the stories of his people's mass genocide and subsequent devolution. His first step on that road though was doing what he had initially come to the village to do – find Alvin and reclaim his armour.

The sun was bright on the morning he stepped into the Riverwood Trader, Lokran had asked Delphine about the claw that Alvin had mentioned in his note and she had told him of the Golden Dragon Claw that Lucan Valerius, the proprietor, kept on his store counter as a totem. The Riverwood Trader was a cosy little store, Lokran had been into it once or twice since he had begun working in the village – trading the pelts of local wolves or buying the occasional provision for the Inn, but he had never noticed any claw. He entered the store and was shocked to hear yelling coming from the counter.

"Well what are you going to do about it Lucan?" Camilla, Lucan's younger sister was yelling at him, "You can't just sit here and hope they bring it back – you need to go after them!" Camilla, Lokran had come to realise in the short time he had been in the village, was a sweet girl, but fiery when riled – she was much sought after by two of the younger men in the village and it was moments like this when Lokran could see why.

"Go after them?" Lucan shot back – Lucan was an older man, more given to the merchant's trade than any kind of physical activity. Lokran thought the man a little too cowardly for his taste, but he was nice enough and would bend over backward if he thought he could get a sale. "Are you mad Camilla, they're not just going to hand it to me, if I go after them you'll be lose a brother and not just a claw!"

"Well then what do you suggest? Do we hire the companions, grab a mercenary, what?" Camilla was clearly set on getting the claw back, but it seemed that Lucan was reluctant to tempt the wrath of those who had taken it. Lokran had heard enough of their argument – he needed solid details if he was to track down Alvin and his armour.

"Pardon me," Lokran interjected, earning him startled looks from the two siblings followed by a glare from Camilla, "I didn't mean to listen in, but am I to understand you've had something stolen?" Lucan immediately looked shifty, but Camilla was having none of his acting. She crossed her arms across her chest and snorted.

"Go ahead Lucan, tell him. It was only a matter of time before someone came and asked about it – you might as well tell the truth – for once." Lucan sagged, defeated. He had clearly been arguing with his sister about this for a while and Lokran doubted this would be the end of the discussion when he left, but he was glad of Camilla's influence – it allowed him to get directly to the truth. Lucan cleared his throat and explained.

"A few days ago some men came in here, a pair of Dark Elves and few other rough types, said they wanted my claw and that if I gave it to them they'd leave me and my sister alone. At first I told them to leave – that I would not be threatened in my own home, but they were… persuasive." Lucan looked ashamed of his weakness, but Lokran understood the desire to protect family. Still Lokran had a man to find. He reached into his pocket and drew out the note he had taken from the cabin.

"Was one of the men called Alvin?" Lokran asked handing the note to Lucan. Lucan took the note and read it – he slowly shook his head as if not understanding what he held.

"I'm not sure," he said, one of the Dark Elves was called Avrel, he seemed to be in charge, but I don't know if Alvin was the other. They were headed to Bleak Falls Barrow, that huge ruin on the hill across the river – maybe you could catch them?" Lokran took the note, which Lucan handed back to him and placed it back into his pocket. He would indeed have to go after the thieves – not only for his armour, but because they had threatened Lucan and Camilla. Lokran had grown quite fond of Riverwood since his time there and would be lying if he thought the idea of bandits causing a rift in the community didn't bother him.

"Lucan, Camilla," He said regarding the siblings, "I will go after them and I will retrieve your claw – I have a little business to settle with them myself." Camilla smiled ruefully at Lokran's proclamation and Lucan looked physically relieved.

"You… you will?" He stammered, hardly able to believe his luck, "Great, that's great! I still have some money coming in from my last shipment; it's yours if you can get that claw back to me." Lokran was about to protest when he realised that the money may well be useful in establishing himself a little better in the world, if he had learned anything the last few weeks it was that coin drove the world – the lust for coin and riches, it was the driving force behind almost everything people did now.

"Thank you Lucan, it is much appreciated." Lokran said after a moment. Lokran turned to go, but felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned back to find himself face to face with Camilla.

"Thank you for helping me and my brother, it means a lot that you'd help us out like this." Lokran looked into her eyes and for the first time saw the woman behind the fire – she was scared, scared for herself, scared for her brother and scared of the world. Lokran sympathised, the world it seemed was a cruel place and he knew just how cruel it could be. He smiled weakly at her, uncomfortable with how close she was to him and very aware of the close scrutiny of her brother not an arm's length from him.

"You're welcome Camilla, now if you'll excuse me." Lokran walked back to the door and stepped out into the morning air. He looked across the river and up at the huge ruin of Bleak Falls Barrow towering over the village. If that was to be his destination then he was ready for any and all comers. He had a purpose now and nothing was going to stop him, not Alvin and not Avrel if that was who led these brigands.


	3. Blood Storm

It had taken the entire morning and much of the afternoon for Lokran to climb the mountain trail that led up to Bleak Fall Barrow. The journey had been uneventful with only a starving wolf trying its luck at the lone traveller and Lokran felt good to be out in the snowy landscape of his homeland once again. Lokran now found himself crouched behind a low boulder, using his natural snowy complexion to blend into the snow around him and watching the movements of the Bandits who patrolled the ruined tower that stood sentinel over the approach to the barrow. Reaching back, Lokran adjusted the hood he had borrowed from Delphine – primarily to protect his vision from harsh weather, but also to hide his Snow Elf features from the wide-eyed looks of other travellers. If the was one thing he had learned during his time in Riverwood it was that his being a Snow Elf was sure to draw the stares of the inhabitants of modern Skyrim. With his other hand Lokran reached to his side and checked the sword for around the tenth time since he had begun crouching there. It was comforting, being so close to foes, to know that he had steel – well, iron – at his side. The sword he had taken from the first Bandit that had attacked him was still serving well as his primary weapon – though it had seen some improvement at the hands of Alvor in the village smithy.

The men at the tower were talking to one another over the walls – each stationed at a particular stage in the tower. At first Lokran had thought that the snow was playing tricks with his vision when the tower had first come into view – but as he got closer he saw that the shapes moving around the structure had indeed been bandits – bandits wearing the same fur armour and sash as the one who had first attacked him. Tactically, Lokran reasoned, this tower served as an outpost, allowing the Bandits to watch the path for any overzealous guardsmen and waylaying any over indulgent traveller that came close the Barrow and disturbing whatever plans Avrel and Alvin's band had for the place. Lokran knew that using a combination of his natural camouflage and the cover of the falling snow, he could sneak past the outpost without incident. However he found the idea of this group continuing to prey upon travellers, reverent citizens and anyone else unlucky enough to visit the Barrow made him ill. No, he had to put a stop to it and ensure that none of them got away to warn those at the Barrow of his intent. He had already decided on a course of action. They were robbers and would not be expecting someone with any degree of skill to fight back – he could use this assumption to his advantage.

Slipping quietly from his hiding spot and donning the travel cloak that he had also borrowed from a chest in the Sleeping Giant – Lokran stepped onto the path and pulled his hood low, giving him the appearance of a snow-blind traveller. He also made certain to loosen the sword in its scabbard and tried to draw in as much Magicka as he felt he was able. He had not yet been able to cast a single spell since awakening, but hoped, with practice, the art would return to him. The distance between the tower and Lokran was not great, but the snow had begun to worsen as the afternoon wore on and he hoped that it would work in his favour. Indeed, as Lokran moved toward the tower he found it difficult to discern the shapes of the Bandits from those of the tower itself – if he hadn't know they were there this might have gone very differently. As he began forward, Lokran began constructing his ruse, pulling his hood tighter around his face and calling out to no one in particular.

"Hello, hello!" Lokran called out, straining his voice to ensure he was heard above the rising noise of the snowstorm. "Is anyone there? I could use some help, hello!" The calls paid off, as the shape of the Bandit manning the door became distinct in the distance as he grew even closer, Lokran could see that he had taken a step away from the wall to better inspect his potential target. Even though the wind was whipping at his face, Lokran could see the man's sneer and he knew that his ruse had worked. Lokran was thankful; he hadn't particularly rated his chances at storming the tower if the archer was on his game. When Lokran was close enough that any normal person would have been able to see he addressed the bandit. "Oh, well met stranger – could you help me? I appear to have gotten lost in the storm." The Bandit's sneer intensified and he sauntered toward Lokran with practised ease.

"Ah, I see you've gotten turned around out here, well then friend let me point you back in the right direction," The Bandit was close enough now that Lokran could make out the smell of the man's breath. He was a Nord, like the one in the cabin, his short black hair and beady hazel eyes, when combined with his sneer, made Lokran thoroughly dislike the man. "But first, let me relieve you of your heavy burdens so you can make it back unencumbered." The threat was clear, give me your stuff, but Lokran did not want the man feeling confident – he wanted him riled, prone to mistakes – so he played dumb.

"No, it's alright, I think I'll be able to make it with my meagre load, if you could just point me back to the main road I'm sure all will be well." The man's sneer fell into one of frustration mixed with anger. To his credit though, he recovered his composure quickly enough to deliver his next line.

"Ah, you see the thing is, I was not asking. Hand over your possessions or I'll gut you here and now." Once his sword was unsheathed Lokran sprang into action. He reached out and quickly grabbed the hand that was drawing the sword and used his right hand to deliver a heavy blow to the side of the bandit's face. The blow connected heavily with his temple and the bandit spun and hit the ground. With barely a moment passing, a shout went up from just inside the tower ruins as the archer caught wind of the situation changing. He rushed out from the cover of the building onto the walkway that joined the tower to the rest of the mountain, his bow drawn as he moved. Lokran heard the tell-tale tightening of the bowstring and spun, blade raised flat across his palms. The arrow leapt from the bow and hurtled toward him, but Lokran was well practised at catching arrows on blades – granted his practice had been interrupted by a few centuries, but he remembered the training like he had received it yesterday. The impact of arrow on blade was heavy, but Lokran turned the blade, and the arrow along with it, at the last second. Without wasting any time Lokran then rushed the archer, attacked just as the next arrow was being drawn from the quiver. Lokran slashed, but it was clumsy and heavily telegraphed giving his opponent the opportunity to bring up a defence, in this case the wooden long bow he had just used. Lokran's blade bit deep into the wood, not quite splitting the wood in two, but bring it close enough to not matter. The archer lost his grip on the weapon and the bow bounced off of the walkway to the rocks below. Lokran recovered from his shock faster than the archer and spun on the spot, putting as much power as he could into the swing. The blade bit just below the chin, sending the long piece of sharpened metal driving into the archer's neck. If Lokran had been at full strength then the blow would have taken the archers head clean off, as it was the blow only went around three quarters of the way through. The blood sprayed off over the side of the walkway and Lokran spun to avoid taking a bath in the man's blood.

No sooner had the archer hit the cold ground than Lokran heard the third member of the tower's retinue racing down to face him. Lokran had seen this one during his study, the third member of the band was clearly in charge as he had been the one ordering the others around and was kitted out in full iron armour. He also wielded a deadly-looking battle-axe which Lokran did not doubt could rip him in half if he made a mistake. This is where he needed his Magicka, but knew that in his weakened condition it was not something he could rely on. The tread of heavy on old wooden boards grew louder and readying his off-hand to summon whatever spell he could – Lokran charged up the final set of stairs to face his opponent. The Nord in the iron armour rushed him, the sight of the man, six feet tall, broad, long blonde hair streaming out from under the horned helm and the battle-axe at the ready did make Lokran regret not having given more thought to the stealth approach, but those thoughts were quickly abandoned when it became clear the Nord had no intention of slowing his charge. Lokran focused; drawing in all of the energy he could and focused it onto his off-hand, willing the natural frost magic of his people to aid him. Alas, it was not to be and Lokran only just managed to get up a serviceable guard before the Nord barrelled into him. Lokran fell backward, the momentum of the Nord's charge taking him back down the stairs he had just ascended – his sword flying from his grip and bouncing out into the snowstorm. Lokran landed heavily – dislodging a pile of salvaged weaponry and armour in the fall. It was by the blessings of Auri-El that he did not skewer himself on one of the swords or pikes that the bandits had horded. He had little time to consider his luck however, as the Nord leapt from the stairs aiming the axe squarely in the centre of Lokran's chest. He rolled and as he did so felt the air part as the man and axe landed behind him. Lokran crawled backward – the iron clad Nord stalking him like a weak and frightened deer. Lokran's hand scrambled for a weapon – any weapon and closed around the haft of a steel war pick that had been knocked loose in the fall. Acting solely on instinct Lokran rose, swayed left and swung upward with all of his might. By chance – or the will of the gods – the blade pierced the underside of the Nord's chin and ripped upward with the momentum of the swing. Effectively ripping the Nord's face off under the helmet. As the gargling Nord crumpled into a heap, Lokran sagged on his knees – the fall and the fight had taken its toll on him, but he knew he did not have time to rest. At any moment one of the Bandits could return to this outpost to check on their comrades and if he was to be found amongst their corpses then he would soon join them. With great effort Lokran forced himself to stand and search the outpost for anything that would help him. There was plenty of loot lying around the place, coins, cloaks and the like, but Lokran was less interested in the attire than he was information. At the highest point of the tower, what had served as the bandit's living quarters he found a note – similar to the one he had found at the cabin where he had awoken, but whole.

"Keep an eye on the road – we don't want any uninvited visitors to our little excavation. Any problems you tell me or Alvin – directly. Also keep an eye out for Brogan – he was picking up the last of the supplies from the cabin and should be along any day now.

Avrel"

Lokran scrunched the note into a ball with his fist. Avrel was the name of the bandit who had threatened Lucan and Camilla – the one Lucan thought had been in charge. Alvin was also mentioned here, it seemed the two were in charge of the operation. Brogan however, seemed to be the unlucky bandit that Lokran had knocked out cold back when he had woken. It was nice to have a name to go with the face.

During the rest of his search Lokran recovered a few items he knew would be invaluable to the rest of the climb and subsequent fight. He had found another long bow – functional and undamaged – and had taken the quiver of arrows from the archer he had near decapitated. The war pick he had used on the burly Nord had seemed like a hardy weapon and so he had retrieved that also. Amongst the various loot and miscellaneous junk that the bandits had accrued had been a fair bit of coin – which Lokran decided would be better in his pocket than that of the bandits and a few precious gems which he knew would serve to enrich him a little further, perhaps make the new life he was living a little easier. He had also found several weak healing potions – two of which he had guzzled down needing a little boost to his strength if he was going to make the barrow by nightfall.

It took less than an hour to ascend the rest of the path toward the barrow. The higher on the path Lokran went the snowfall got progressively heavier until by the time the barrow was in sight the weather was a blizzard. Lokran was, in part, glad of the cover that the bad weather provided, it was also weather that his race was uniquely suited to. However, the weather was also a hazard – making peripheral vision nearly useless. Thankfully, Lokran could see well enough to fight. From what he could tell from a small rocky outcrop overlooking the barrow – there were three bandits patrolling the outside of the barrow. They were wearing heavy cloaks and hoods to ward off the cold and were keeping to a rigorous patrol – clearly these were more dedicated to their mission than the hold-up men that were down by the road, but Lokran had a plan and after the healing effects of the potions he had ingested, Lokran was feeling more than ready for it.

Lokran drew the bow he had liberated from the tower and strung an arrow. He had watched the routes the bandits had taken for a while and knew the positioning well. The most dangerous of the patrolling bandits was, as always, the archer, but from what he had observed there was a Magicka user among them and they could be just as dangerous, but Lokran had to prioritise. There was a moment, when the archer came to edge of the barrow entrance to view the approach, granted with the weather the way it was there was not a lot to see, but it seemed the archer was determined to stick to the route. Lokran watched, his breathing steady as the archer came in sight at the edge. This was not going to be an easy shot and it had been a while since Lokran had held a bow, but he felt confident in his abilities. The world seemed to slow down to the point where even the details on the snowflakes were visible. His vision narrowed to the point that all he could see was the path the arrow would take. He compensated for the strong wind and then let out the breath he had been holding. The arrow leapt from the string and flew, blown slightly by the gusting winds, directly to the archer just as they got to the edge. The arrow connected higher than Lokran had anticipated, directly in the throat – choking off any cry the archer may have been about to give and Lokran watched as the body pitched forward tumbling into the rapidly piling snow that was building below. It seems the shot did not go as unnoticed as Lokran had planned as he heard shouts go up over the roar of the snow. With a curse Lokran threw down the bow and charged up the steps to the plateau with the entrance. The other two bandits rushed toward him – the first, which Lokran realised was a woman now that he saw her up close, charged in slightly ahead of the other – sword coming in high for a downward slash. Lokran ducked to the side and slashed out with the pick. The slash took her in the side of the knee stumbling her and as she fell and Lokran straightened he reversed the grip on the pick and slammed it into the back of the woman's skull. She stiffened and fell, but Lokran was moving in on the second bandit before she even began to fall. To his surprise though, the man raised his hands and Lokran saw the faint wisps of flames building around his fingers. Cursing under his breath, Lokran was forced to roll as the magical flames burst from the man fingers. He knew one of the bandits had Magicka, but he had no way of knowing it would be flames. The heat was almost unbearable as he rolled beneath them – he was sure he had been roasted, but then he was past them and standing in the frigid air. Lokran had to act quickly or be roasted when the spell-sword turned. Lokran kicked out behind himself as he spun around to attack – the kick took the spell-sword in the legs and he fell backward, Lokran looped his arm around the man's neck and yanked downward, the man was pulled to the ground hard and Lokran heard the distinctive crack of his neck breaking. Lokran knelt by his body panting – the skin around his right shoulder was flaring with an angry pink burn and once more Lokran cursed, but this time out loud. It was in this moment when he heard the sound of leather scuffing on stone and snow. Lokran spun fast and saw the outline of a fourth bandit running headline toward the entrance to the barrow. Lokran hefted the war pick, holding it at the bottom of the handle and threw it at the man. The pick flew end over end and impacted heavily in the fourth man's spine. He flew forward with the impact and hit the door to the barrow, sliding down it and into the snow. Lokran sighed once more – these damn bandits were really making this simple reacquisition of property into a really hands on operation. Lokran looked at the door – huge, black and imposing with intricate carvings of Nordic history on it, but it was also the doorway to Avrel, Alvin and a few of the answers he sorely needed.

Part of Lokran thought he should perhaps go and pick up the bow he had dropped at the bottom of the steps, but he knew that it would not be the most useful weapon inside an old barrow. Plus he noticed the light was fading and it would not be long before any other bandits in the area began returning – which judging by the slowly steaming corpses would not result in his presence going unnoticed. He wandered over to the fourth bandit and wrenched the pick out of his spine, cleaning the weapons blade on the man's sash. Lokran reached into his satchel and pulled out another one of the healing potions and drank the liquid down in a heartbeat. The stinging in his shoulder numbed almost instantly and he felt a little better overall. After a brief moment to look around, Lokran tested the door and felt it give relatively easily – with a small prayer for Auri-El's mercy Lokran stepped into the barrow.


End file.
